


The One Where They Find A Home

by eighth_chiharu



Series: The One Where Dave's a Vampire [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Magic, Stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: Dave and Rose find an apartment, and the three of them get to work settling into life in Southern California. Slice-of-life stories that take place between Dirk's fourteenth and seventeenth birthdays.





	1. The One Where Rose Gets Her Own Room

They fled in the fall. They stay through the winter.

There is no snow in California, not this near to the ocean. There’s wind, and rain, and overcast days so dark the lack of sun wakes Dave earlier than normal -- but there is no snow. Even in Texas, there was sometimes snow. 

Dave tells them he misses it. Misses the way it blankets the ground and tries to stick, even for a moment. Misses the crisp, nothing scent of it. The blankness. The white.

In solidarity, Dirk goes outside in the late November evening to keep watch, though they and the local meteorologist know the snow isn't coming. He stands out on the balcony when the sky is at its stormiest, the clouds obscuring the sun, the cold sea wind running ahead of the rain, lashing at his bangs, a Big Gulp cup of Mountain Dew in his hands, salt sticking to his sunglasses. He sucks at the straw and pulls in the icy, sweet drink, liquid lime green sugar. If he doesn’t shield, Dave can taste it as it flows over Dirk’s tongue. 

Dave never thought he’d taste anything but blood ever again. I _t’s a miracle_ , he thinks.  _A gift_. Dirk hears him.  
  


 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Dirk turns fourteen a couple weeks later. He falls asleep on the floor beside Rose's sofa, his gifts in a small pile beside him, his new headphones still on.  Rose and Dave can hear the music thudding from them, and wonder how he can sleep through the noise.

Dirk dreams about Dave. In his dream, he tells Dave everything, and he knows Dave hears him.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

With Rose’s help, Dave finds a new apartment. Or maybe it’s the other way round, as Rose does most of the footwork, but she doesn’t quibble in front of Dirk. Besides, Dirk is smart. He knows the truth. His auntie is a capable lady, and his brother would do it himself if he could.

Dirk sees if for the first time when they move in, the day after New Year’s, on January 2nd. There’s no furniture, but all three roam through the large, empty space at twilight, listen to their footsteps echoing off the clean wood flooring and the freshly-whitened walls, and envision separate futures. With three bedrooms, a balcony, two bathrooms, a _ppliances included, no pets allowed, within easy walking distance of the local high school and several churches, walk score of 90!_ , there’s plenty to imagine.

“The master bedroom is mine,” Rose informs Dirk, deceptively calm. 

Dirk isn't fooled. He glances at Dave, surprised at the room assignment, ready to protest. "Says who? It oughta be Dave's, he's the one paying."

His brother shrugs calmly, thin shoulders moving easily beneath his white button-up as he moseys to the kitchen to study the huge stainless steel fridge “It has an en-suite,” he tells Dirk. “She deserves her own bathroom by now.”

After all these years, it's obvious that Dave can’t shake the idea that ladies somehow need more bathroom space than men. In point of fact, Dirk is the one slowly amassing an impressive array of toiletries. Rose uses organic shampoo and conditioner, but other than that and her perfume, she doesn't have much. She probably just doesn’t want to share with a teenage boy who isn’t big on picking up his towel or removing his underwear from the bathroom floor. Dirk knows his faults, even if he won't admit to them to anyone but himself.

Rose beams. “I’ll put the bathroom, and that sunken tub, to good use.”

“You get a bathtub?” Dirk protests. “What about me, where’s my bathtub?”

“In the other bathroom, which is right across the hall from your room, so you don’t have far to walk. And speaking of walking.” Rose crosses the empty living room to where her purse sits on the kitchen counter and pulls an envelope from its deep purple depths. She taps the paper against the palm of her hand, her lacquered nails catching the overhead light. “The high school is only a few blocks away We need to get you registered.  They’ll be open on Friday, we’ll go then.”

“ _Dave_.” Another protest, this one longer in tone, more childish than Dirk likes. He hates sounding like a baby, he needs to rein that in. “Dave, seriously, I don’t need to go to school. Or I can go next year. You know I can test out of Freshman year, so who cares? Being here with you makes way more sense. What if something happens?”

His brother’s eyes are hidden behind those ever-present sunglasses, and suddenly Dirk knows why his pleading is getting nowhere. He senses it, both an emotion and a clear thought. _Dave and Rose have already discussed this._

Unfair.

Dave does give another shrug though, one shoulder lifting and falling almost lazily, slow in a solid, no-hope sort of way. “Sorry, kiddo. The law’s the law, and you and me are on the books. Gotta go til you’re sixteen at least. You got two years before we can even begin to negotiate dropping out.”

Dirk groans, going to the kitchen counter and dropping against it dramatically. It's the only solid thing of any height that he can flop around on. “Aw, man, c’moooon. I hate school, it’s boring.”

“You need school, and it’s only boring because you don’t talk to anyone. You’ll make friends this time, you’ll see.”

“Everyone thinks I’m weird, and they’re all vacant and typical.”

"That sounds like snob talk." Dave muses. "I'm sure all the kids here are just rich, and not jerks." 

Rose’s mouth quirks. “Perfect advice, as always.” She follows, closes the distance between her and Dirk and rubs Dirk's back. “It’ll be different here, I promise. They don’t even know you. Just give it a chance, honey. Give them a chance.”

Dirk scowls, head hanging down, groaning louder. This sounds like bullshit. Rich kids are notoriously meaner than poor kids. Anyone who watches television knows that. And also... he pretty much doesn't know anyone, and can't make any judgement calls about their attitudes. Rose and Dave are right: Dirk can't know what the other students are like until he makes the effort to meet them. Which means there's no real reason not to go to school in broad daylight.

He droops more until his forehead rests on the granite surface of the counter, and his voice is a muffled huff. “… I’m being railroaded. Is there a teen lawyer television show, because if there is, I want to call in this very obviously unfair family discussion and get it on the air. I could at least make some money off this Jerry Springer Special Episode.”

“Dirk…”

“ _Fine,"_ he says. "Fine. You win. I’ll do it, but only because I don’t want to fight you guys. Too much work. You whine a lot when you lose. You're very sore losers.”

Rose rubs his back again, and gives him a hug. “That’s my smart, handsome boy.”

Dirk only grunts. Railroaded. 

Dave claps his hands and rubs them briskly. “Okay, okay, enough sulking. So we got all that sorted out, but we still have a furniture truck coming in twenty minutes, and Amazon to hit up for sheets and towels that don’t say the name of a hotel on it, and someone has to order pizza before the two of you pass out from malnutrition –”

“I’ll do that part!” Dirk springs up, magically recovered from his ordeal with society’s harsh rules and regulations. He pulls out his phone and retreats to the other end of the living room, as if a pizza order requires such secrecy. There’s only one reason for that: the order that will probably include jalapenos, which no one likes but Dirk. 'No-one' being Rose. She'll insist on her half being spiceless if she has her way. Well, she's already got her way with high school. The pizza tonight will be a minor, but substantial, victory over tyranny. 

Dave pretends not to watch, but Dirk knows he’s keeping tabs on Dirk from the corner of his eye. He can feel their conversation if he tries hard enough. The pizza place puts him on hold, and he concentrates on Dave's feelings and words without turning around to look at his adopted parents. Vampire skill transference #1: eavesdropping. Cheap, but useful, if a guy doesn't mind being insulted. 

“Think he’ll be okay?” Dave murmurs quietly.

Rose nods once, slowly. “I think he’ll be much better from now on. He’s growing up. He’s changing.”

“… yeah,” Dave agrees after a moment. “Guess so. I guess… I guess he has to do that.”

“Don’t worry,” Rose says, and this time she touches Dave’s cool, smooth arm. “He has smart, capable, adult help.” Dave starts to nod back, and Rose adds mischievously, “He has  _me_.”

“You short brat!” Dave grabs her around the waist with a laugh, and slings her over his bony shoulder. She yelps as his body smacks against her stomach, and then he tips her legs up, and she’s two feet from his ass. She slaps at it, cussing and indignant, but he’s unfazed. “Time to get a real close look at that new tub of yours! Hope you’re wearing something waterproof!”

“Don’t you dare!” she gasps, tears of mirth and exertion springing to the corners of her eyes, smearing her eyeliner. “Oh! Dirk! Help your auntie!”

Dirk looks up from the phone. He meets her gaze, says distinctly, “Yeah, jalapenos on that,” and motions thumbs-down.

Dave laughs deeper than usual, more carefree, and marches off to the master bedroom, Rose shrieking the whole way.


	2. The One Where John Owns a Magic Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave meets John and Terezi, a purveyors of fyne majyykal items -- and a few cursed ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published as a stand-alone story. I realized it would fit better here, in this small collection, because Dave doesn't meet John until they move to Southern California.

The shop is empty when the bell over the door jingles, and John pauses in dusting his favorite collection of candy poop-expelling plastic animals, glancing toward the sound.

“Hey!” he calls, leaning over the glass counter to try to see his customer. “I’ll be right there, just a sec!”

No-one answers, but that’s not unusual. A lot of John’s customers are shy, or are here for Terezi and her special brand of futuristic revelation. He sets the Pooping Penguin down and hurries around the counter into the main aisle.

A blond man stands there in a white t-shirt and designer jeans, poking at a fake wand. When he looks up, John is mildly surprised by the mirrored sunglasses obscuring half of the man’s face. Maybe he’s a movie star, that’d be cool. Although their shop is in Hollywood, Terezi and John don’t get many celebrity clients.

John waves enthusiastically. “Hi, sorry. I was cleaning. See something you like? Or is there something special I can help you find?”

The stranger gives a half shrug, one shoulder only. “Maybe? I’ve never been here before. I’m looking for something rare and provocative that no-one else has, which will win me adulation from a very tough audience.”

John chuckles. “Isn’t everyone?” He walks closer, touching a few of the items on the narrow shelves as he passes, verifying they haven’t been tampered with. Terezi always says it’s a bad idea to keep Heart Stones out where normies can interact with them, but how’s anyone supposed to know they’re an undiscovered wizard if no-one ever shows them their own potential?

Terezi also says he’s watched too many Harry Potter movies.

“For yourself?” John asks. “Or a friend?”

“My brother.”

Was it John’s imagination, or was there some hesitation between those two words? Hmm, one of those types. Secretive. John’s interest dwindles, though his willingness to help stays the same. He needs paying customers if he wants to keep eating. “Okay. What does he like?”

“Robotics. Engineering. Music. Ponies.”

Ponies? John refrains from yelling _brony_ , but only barely. “Price range?”

“Depends on what you show me.”

Typical rich dude. But that’s okay, that usually means he can con them into a sale, and maybe toss a harmless little prank their way in the process.

John backs up a step, sticks his hand into the depths of one shelf, and pulls out a purple stone orb. The thing pulses with a soft light and nestles into the palm of John’s hand. “This lets you hear music whenever you want, wherever you are, no headphones required.”

The customer purses his lips. “Mm, he’s got itunes, and he thinks his headphones are the pinnacle of modern listening technology. He’d wear ‘em in the shower if he could.”

John makes a face. “Right.” He tucks the orb into his pants pocket, where it trills happily in elvish melodies audible only to John. A few more steps back, closer to the counter, John plucks another item from another shelf. “Then maybe… this?”

The man’s golden eyebrows rise. “Is that a Tic-Tac-Toe pony? From the 80s? Where the hell did you get that? I thought those things had all been buried in Arizona or wherever with the ET games.”

“I have really great connections,” John answers. He holds the package out, the orange pony smiling gently from behind the clear plastic window, its rainbow mane and tail soft and smooth, obviously in mint condition. “It’s kinda pricey, but if he likes the old Ponies as well as the new ones, maybe he’d like this one.”

“Wow. Damn. Maybe so.” The man doesn’t touch the toy, but leans over it, examining it closely. “So why’s it in a magic shop? Does it do anything besides sit there?”

He’s probably asking it casually, teasing, but John is bound by the rules to answer any direct question honestly. He shrugs, trying to make his reply sound like a joke. “You can ride her. She gets a little bigger if you ask her to, or if she gets restless, but that’s cool, you said he liked ponies. He’s got a stable or something, right?”

The man straightens, his mouth quirked in amusement. “He’s fourteen. He has his own bedroom, and that’s it. We don’t have room for a giant horse.”

Groaning internally, John puts the pony back on the shelf. “Yeah, that makes sense. Fourteen, fourteen… hmm…. Oh, man, I got it!”

He retreats back to the counter, going behind it and sliding one of the display case doors open. He pulls out an old robot toy from the 1950s and sets it on the counter. “This is perfect. Check it out.” The stranger hesitates, and John adds, “It won’t hurt you if you touch it, it’s just tin.”

Blond eyebrows crease as the man studies the robot. “Does it get bigger?”

“No,” John laughs. “It doesn’t change size. You can wind it up, and it’ll walk around.”

The eyebrows meet in the middle. “Does it stop moving? Does it wind down in a couple minutes instead of some obscene amount of time like weeks or years?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it?”

The man snorts. “I don’t know why it wouldn’t. Why would a plastic My Little Pony get bigger?”

“Good point,” John says cheerfully. This guy catches on fast. “So what do you think? It’s eighty bucks, ‘cause it’s faded and it has a scratch on the back.” He turns it to show the paint scraped off in a thin line, next to the turnkey and the model number.

“… all right, sure.” The man reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “You take cash?”

“I love cash. You want a box?”

“Yeah, thanks. So,” the man adds as he pulls out a hundred, “is there anything else I need to know about this thing? It’s not gonna come to life and kill us all in our sleep, is it? ‘Cause I don’t need that kind of grief, and if I find out you sold me something that tried to murder my kid, we’re gonna have problems.”

John gets out a plain white gift box and some tissue paper, rolling the tin robot delicately into a safe paper burrito. “Nah, it doesn’t come to life, and I doubt it could murder anything, even if it wanted to. It’s tin, just step on it if it suddenly figures out how to move on its own.” It’s a little possessed, but that’s not what the man asked, and ‘need’ is such a vague word. The spirit inside the little toy will probably chew up their laptops in an attempt to be a ‘real’ robot, but that’s just funny, not endangering. “There we go. All ready.”

The man hands over the money, takes his change, and eyes John one more time – at least, John thinks he does, because he can’t see anything behind those sunglasses. “No murder? You promise?”

John pauses in the act of putting the box in a red-and-white paper bag. “Are you the president?”

“No.”

“Do you work at the Pentagon, or any other place with access to weapons, nuclear or otherwise?”

The man laughs once. “No, Jesus.”

“Do you have a laser gun defending your front door? A deathbot with a chainsaw attached to it? A blender with a grudge? Sir, do you own any plastic bags small enough for this inanimate robot to drag around, yet large enough to injure you in some way?”

“All right, all right, smartass.” The man grabs the bag, but he’s smiling. “You made your point, and I know where you work, anyway. What’s your return policy?”

“No returns,” John quips back, grinning.

“Fuck you,” the man answers, but his smile is still intact. “Good luck with your roommate, by the way.”

It’s John’s turn to be mildly surprised. “My roommate?” he asks as the man walks away. “Why? What’d she tell you?”

“Nothing,” the man calls back as he reaches the front door, “but she’s pretty mad about something, and I’m betting she’s gonna take it out on you.”

The bell over the door tinkles, and the man is gone. Two seconds later, Terezi storms into the shop, smacking the bottom of every shelf with her cane.

“Hey, Stupid!” she yells, though she knows full well that John is at the counter. She’s blind, but she can ‘see’ through other means. John calls her 'Daredevil' when no-one else is around. She calls him something less kind. “What’d you sell that guy back there? It better not be one of your dumb jokes!”

“This is a joke shop,” John says, wincing each time she bangs something with her unbreakable cane. “I sell  _jokes._  It says 'John’s Magic and Mystery Shop' right on the sign. There’s a picture of a rabbit laughing. That means there’s something funny inside here! If people don’t want mysteries, they shouldn’t come in!”

“You’re funny in the head!” Terezi snaps, swinging at John’s skull and rapping him sharply.

“Ow! Cut it out! He was rich, we need the money!”

“I tried to call you. Why didn’t you answer me?”

John glances at the store’s phone, and Terezi whacks him again while he’s not looking. “I said stop that!” he gripes, clapping a hand over his bruised skull. “It didn’t ring, I swear!”

Terezi raises her cane, but John ducks. “Why would I use a phone, Stupid? I’m a fucking psychic! You couldn’t hear me screaming at you from across town?”

“No, I didn’t hear any –“ John stops, blinking. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the purple orb, which is still singing away happily, beautiful background music only John can hear. “… oh, fuck me.”

“Probably,” his roommate agrees. “What’d you sell that guy? Go get it back.”

“Why didn’t you take it from him if it was so important?” John snaps. “You walked right past him!”

“I wasn’t sure it was him.”

John rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of bullshit. Look, I’ll just cast a locating spell on him, I have his credit … no, he paid cash. Fuck. Okay, no big deal. I can use the money. Maybe it was in his wallet a long time.”

“Good luck,” Terezi says, sneering.

“Fine, you tell me where he is, then,” John demands. “Why was it bad to sell him a stupid toy robot anyhow? It’s not even evil, just obnoxious! The spirit in it thinks it’s some kind of android or something. Delusional as hell, but he can’t really do anything besides possess computers, and so what? That guy was rich, he can buy a new one.”

“I’m not sure,” Terezi muses, “but I know this much: that guy was a vampire –“

“A  _what?”_  John yelps.

“— and messing with vampires never leads anywhere good.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

 The surprise works nothing like Dave thinks it will, and exactly like John hopes.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

The door bangs open exactly twenty-one minutes after sundown. The little bell goes flying, smacking the wall with a miniature crash, and the customer from two days ago blows into the store like sea god with a hernia, all fury and foam. **  
**

“ _YOU_ ,” he snaps as soon as he sees John. He chucks the old tin robot toy at John’s head. “You  _owe_ me!”

John barely ducks in time to avoid being scalped and leaps behind the counter, praying the wards on the door haven’t misinterpreted this man’s intentions and hoping the spells on the counter are up to date. “Whoa, hey, hello, sir, how are you today? Nice to see you again!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” The man – the vampire, if Terezi is correct, and she usually is – storms up to the counter, jabbing a finger at John. “That thing broke my laptop! It broke my  _babysitter’s_ laptop! You owe me replacements!”

“No refunds, remember?” John tries with a smile. The man flushes, and John waves his hands. “It was just a joke! It’s funny, right? I mean, think about it, some guy from the 1920s wants to have an android body, when they hardly knew what androids were, and he keeps trying to shoehorn himself into any computer he can find because he can’t tell a transistor tube from a store mannequin! He worms into a laptop and gets stuck in a clamshell forever! That’s  _funny_!”

“No, that’s fucked up.” The customer whips his sunglasses off and glares at John with the reddest eyes John’s ever seen outside of a Visine commercial. His voice drops to something lower, echoing as if he and John are in a deep, lightless cave. “You  _will_ give me three thousand dollars, and you’ll do it.  _Right. **Now**_.”

A fog settles over John’s mind, black and shimmery as the night sky. His hand moves placidly on its own, pressing the No Sale button on the cash register to pop the drawer open. He reaches for the tray, lifting it to get at the bigger bills underneath – and suddenly his head clears.

He blinks, stares at the tray, then slams it shut. “No refunds,” he says again.

The man’s eyes glow brighter, and the bridge of his nose wrinkles in anger. “How did you –“

John puts his hands up again. “Look, you paid, okay? You asked your questions, I answered them, that’s how this stuff works, you gotta know that by now! Come on, admit it, it’s at least a little hilarious.”

“No,” the man grits out. “What’d be hilarious is me knocking your goddamn teeth out and taking my money.”

He looks like he’ll do it, too, and wanting a refund for being kind-of-sort-of cheated doesn’t qualify as ‘evil intentions’, so the store won’t help John more than that one tiny wake-up dispersion. If this dude wants to punch John's lights out, the store will probably allow it. “Okay, let’s not get all crazy. You have money, don’t you? Well, I don’t. ‘Magical merchant’ isn’t the glamorous career the video games promised it would be. I’m broke, I have bills coming up, and you’re totally rich. Do you know how much it costs to rent this place?”

“I’m not totally rich, you idiot, I’m trying to  _get_ rich, just like everyone else in this shitty town, and your fucking hobgoblin –“

“Spirit.”

“ – whatever the fuck it is, it just melted down half my webcomic that I was about to put online. That arc was supposed to make me some serious dough, I had a t-shirt deal lined up, notebooks, mugs, the whole works, and now I can’t deliver because you think wrecking people’s shit is the pinnacle of slapstick comedy!”

“I guess maybe it wasn’t  _that_ funny –“

The vampire’s hand snaps out like a viper and seizes John’s shirt, yanking him forward so he can snarl in his face. “You took food out of my kid’s mouth, you piece of shit. What’re you gonna do about it??”

John claps a hand over the customer’s wrist, alarmed. He can set this guy on fire if he has to, but he really doesn’t like doing that. The last time John used fire as a defense, he lost half his merchandise. Besides, despite this guy somehow getting past the counter’s protections, the store still hasn’t tried to kick the man out, which usually means all his bluster is just a big empty threat.

Unless Terezi erased some of the ward lines again. She _had_ told John not to mess with vampires. Maybe she's making sure her little prophecy comes true.

“Okay, cowboy, ease up! Calm down! You bought it of your own free will, and – you know what, I bet you’re just mad ‘cause you were looking to tease your little brother, and the spirit got you instead. Admit it, that’s really the problem here, isn’t it?”

The vampire stares hard for a long couple of seconds, then suddenly lets go. He shoves his sunglasses back on and bares his teeth at the floor, hands clenched into fists. John doesn’t move, the spell for calling fire gathered and waiting on his tongue.

“… fine,” the man says at last. “You’re right. I fucked up. I’ll figure something out.” He turns on his heel, heading for the door.

Oh nooooo, now there’s bad blood between them. John hates that, he hates alienating anyone, especially the undead. They’re just so cool when they aren’t sucking down the blood and flesh of unwilling donors! He drops his hands to the counter, leaning over it. “Hey, wait. Mister, wait a sec!”

The man keeps going.

John comes out from behind the counter, feeling almost as bad as he did when one of John’s pranks worked better than he had expected and broke two of his father’s ribs. “You got renter’s insurance, right? If you’re not rich, you must be renting!”

The customer slows. “So?”

John’s in the main aisle now, not getting too close, but not behind any wards, either. “So claim it was an electrical surge. They’ll replace your machines, no problem, and the building can’t prove otherwise. The insurance companies don't really look into that shit anyhow, and you'll have smoking husks to show them as proof even if they do. You're golden, I promise!”

"A promise from you?" The man glances back, his expression shifting from hope to mistrust in a flash. “And if they reject my claim?”

“Go see your agent in person. Something tells me you can be pretty persuasive when you need to be.” John smiles apologetically and closes the gap between them, his right hand out for a shake. “Look, I’m sorry, really. I mean it. If you come back, I won’t steer you wrong again. I’m John, by the way. From the sign outside.”

“The owner?” the man asks.

“Same one.” John beams hopefully and moves his hand forward a centimeter or two, indicating the offer for peace is still there. “Friends?”

The man shoots John’s hand a look. “No offense, but I don’t know you, and you just sold me ghost malware so you could get a couple of laughs. I don’t think we have anything in common, and something tells me that if I get any closer to you than the standard proprietor-slash-angry-customer dynamic, I’m going to regret that choice for the rest of my life.”

John pretends to think about that, nodding. “That’s a long time. How old are you, like, 200? You don’t seem that old, but you don’t have that pink-fresh look those new vampires have. You’re all washed-out and moon-pale, like elves in the movies, and you haven’t tried to eat me. That usually means older, but carbon dating vampires isn’t really my expertise.”

“Jesus.” The customer stares. “Way to make this personal.”

John beams and holds out his hand again. “If we’re friends, I promise to turn on the tact. I have some. At least, I think I do. Terezi says I don't even understand the idea of tact, but --”

“You wait until you’re friends with someone to be more polite?”

"Oh, no, I'm like this all the time. But I'll try to be more aware of it?" The customer isn't relenting. This is so upsetting. "C'moooon. We're all adults here. You'll get your money, get new computers. Hey, I can call my partner, we can do, like, a candle spell for good luck. For your webcomic. No charge, totally on the house. C'mon, man, what do you say? Friends?"

The vampire shakes his head, but he takes John’s hand. His skin is cold and dry, like he’s been outside in winter without gloves. “Fine, we’re friends, which does not mean more personal questions. It means zero personal questions."

"Okay," John agrees, beaming. "So what do they call you? Friends gotta call each other something. Want me to give you a nickname?"

"God, no. I’m Dave. And just so you know, being friends with you doesn’t mean I’ll loan you money or a car, and I won’t help you move anything.”

“Dave?” John repeats, seizing on the truly important detail. “Are you serious? ‘Dave the Vampire’? How is that supposed to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies? You sound like a Terry Pratchett novel!”

Dave tosses John’s hand away. "Fuck you."

"No, I'm serious! Don't you wanna, you know, appear threatening?" John raises his arms like he has a cape and is about to pounce on some movie virgin.

Dave rolls his eyes “I don’t use the whole title when I attack my hapless victims. And anyway, it’s better than John the… whatever you are. Sorcerous Shithead. Prevaricating Prestidigitator.”

“Masterful Magician!”

“That isn’t the phrase the comes to mind.”

“Are you kidding? I’m a great magician, helloooo! Magic stuff, cool powers!” He spreads his arms, proudly indicating the store. “Awesome merch? Right? Huh? Huuuuh?”

“Right,” Dave says, half a smile trying to creep onto his face despite his obviously fighting it. “I can't believe I'm still talking to you. I think you’re the biggest dork I’ve ever met.”

“Who’s getting personal now? Come on, we both know I’m the coolest magic store owner you know.”

“The poverty-stricken magical merchant in Coke-bottle glasses and a Real Ghostbusters shirt with a store on the shittiest corner of Hollywood Boulevard? Yeah, you’re the coolest kid that never left his childhood behind.”

John shrugs. “Eh, it’s gone, believe me. But I got to move to Hollywood, and hey, magic is real! So that’s cool. But you already knew that.”

Dave’s smile widens a centimeter. “I had an idea.”

“Okay, well. You better get out of here before I start asking all those questions I promised not to, like how old are you really, how do you have a little brother, what’s your babysitter like, and what program do you use for your comics, because the whole world, including the 1980s, knows Corel Painter is the only real drawing program.”

Dave’s laugh is genuine, which gives John a happy vibe just from hearing it. “I’m not going to touch any of those without consulting my lawyer.”

“What? You don’t trust me? I’m shocked. I’m a great guy!”

“Yeah, I could tell that from the way my laptop burst into flames and almost burned down my apartment.”

John grins. “Dave, seriously, I thought we’d agreed to keep the rude stuff to a minimum! If that’s all you can focus on, I’m not sure how much of a future we have. This is gonna be one-sided relationship, I can tell.”

“One-sided is exactly what it is, especially since you’re the one who ends up with all the money, and I end up with all the broken shit and the super fun calls to the insurance people, who aren’t going to believe I didn’t try to fry those laptops just so I could get an upgrade to the new Ultrabook unless I go down there and put the whammy on ‘em. It couldn’t get any more one-sided unless we were made of paper.”

“Dimensional jokes, always appropriate, though they tend to leave me flat.”

Dave groans again and John chuckles, moving around him to pull the door open. “Okay seriously, you better go before TZ finds out I like you. She doesn’t approve of vampires. Or my friends. Or pretty much anything I do.”

“I’d like to say I’m surprised, but.”

“Yeah, I know. You should come back when you get your new laptop. We’ll get a drink somewhere vampire friendly, and I’ll show you how to back stuff up – you know, make copies. Super important if you’re gonna work on computers. And I can explain anything else about this confusing new modern world we live in, which you’ve somehow figured out has webcomics. And then, to show your gratitude, you can answer all those questions I just listed.”

“Right. I’ll think about it.” Dave pauses in the doorway, the smile lingering. “Do me a favor and try not to sell anything destructive to anyone else while I’m gone.”

John winces. “Ooh, that’s what the Lone Ranger calls a backwater promise. How about we just agree that you don’t ask, and I don’t tell.”

“That sounds like a terrible omen for our new friendship, but I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get. Maybe you could just destroy their left sock, though, or melt their toothbrush.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m pretty sure I have a sprite stuck in one of a pair of old golf shoes who’d probably like to trade up, live in some Uggs or something.”

That earns John another wide smile. Dave puts his hand out first this time, going for one last handshake. “Sounds like a plan. Okay then. Good night, John the Magician.”

John shakes once, warmly. “Night, Dave the Vampire. Good luck with your insurance claim.”

Dave chuckles, and John watches as he strolls off, eventually disappearing around a dark corner. Kind of enviable, how those types of people can find shadows whenever they want them. John wishes he could do that. It would’ve come in handy for more than one quick escape, that’s for sure.

"Is he coming back?" Terezi calls from the back room.

John shuts the door and locks it, then flips the sign to Closed. "Yeah, probably later. You know how this place works."

Terezi's lip curls. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are, and I love you for it." John clapped his hands twice, and the overhead lights went out, but candles all over the shop lit themselves at the same time. "Now get out here. I have a favor to do for someone, and a little extra power never hurt."


End file.
